


Melava somniar

by rebelontherocks



Series: Dreamers of Time [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dragon Age Lore, M/M, extrapolations from available lore, first part of a three part series, heavy on the lore for some godforsaken reason, it just ran away from me, mild manipullation, rating will go up in next chapter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-02
Updated: 2017-07-02
Packaged: 2018-11-22 11:38:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11379420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelontherocks/pseuds/rebelontherocks
Summary: They were two people looking in opposite directions. Solas at what he'd left behind, and Lavellan at what lay ahead. But in that brief moment, they could only look at each other.





	Melava somniar

**Author's Note:**

> This whole series is a work in progress, but the next and final chapter in this instalment should be ready this week, hopefully.

The Inquisitor and Cassandra were having an argument, Solas could just hear their raised voices from the other side the door leading out to the bridge to Cullen's office. So they had had a meeting, and as usual it had gone poorly. The Inquisitor was unlike most elves Solas had met in this strange world of his own making, neither meek, nor cautious and elusive. Vanir Lavellan used his words as fiercely as his staff, and just as bluntly. 

He had the looks that Solas suspected flamed those sorts of self-preservation instincts in other elves, he was lithe and his freckled golden-brown skin contrasted nicely with his green eyes. In short, he was more likely to be preyed upon by humans than to intimidate them. No, Solas mused, not many would look at the Inquisitor and see a worthy opponent, and they would be all the deader for it. As he suspected Cassandra might be wishing she were at that moment. 

"...trying to blame me for the mistakes of my entire order? An order far older than I, or you!" 

"Who should I blame then, Cassandra? Will you defend the seekers even after what we've learned? The rite of Tranquility is monstrous, your order effectively created it as tool to lobotomise mages, and refused to divulge the means to reverse it." Solas could hear the righteous indignation in the Inquisitor's voice, he tried with only moderate success to sound composed, but his emotions got the better of his intentions – as they often did, when it came to matters of oppression, mage or otherwise. Nothing upset Lavellan more than injustice, his anger burned so bright in its indignity that Solas often wondered how his opponents didn't combust under his glare. Solas had found himself on the receiving end of that glare a number of times. He found it one of the Inquisitor's most charming qualities.

"I agree with you! But you have to understand, the seekers might have started using the rite with the right intentions, a powerful mage, intent on destruction could be unstoppable, and abominations..." Cassandra sighed. Solas could picture her rubbing her temples behind the closed door, and then she said the worst possible combination of words one could utter in Lavellan's presence, "not all mages are like you." 

"And why is that, Cassandra? Maybe because I wasn't imprisoned in your Chantry's circle? Maybe because I wasn't taught my magic was a curse placed upon me by your absent Maker? Have you ever wondered if perhaps brutalising mages physically and psychologically doesn't leave them more open to possession, to corruption? You destroy a mage's mind, and then call them weak." Solas had gravitated closer to the door. He would feel ashamed of his actions if he hadn't decided beforehand it was best to enjoy whatever small pleasures were to be found in the waking world. 

"But Tevinter...," tried Cassandra before Lavellan cut her off. 

"Isn't crawling with abominations! Whatever injustice exists in Tevinter happens because the powerful rule unchecked, not because they are mages. I see no difference between Tevinter, Orlais or Ferelden. The powerful rule, the powerless suffer. Don't pretend that magisters are more cruel than your nobles or clerics simply because they are mages," said Lavellan, his anger had drained somewhat, after the initial outburst. Solas wondered if that had lulled Cassandra into a false sense of security, allowing her to again choose poor words, to make a fair point. 

"In Tevinter you would be a slave." 

"I suppose that would amuse you greatly." Lavellan sounded deceptively calm, but the layer of frost over his words was unmistakable. Solas imagined Cassandra had blanched considerably at the realisation of what she'd done. "You know, I've talked about slavery in the Imperium with Dorian, he admitted to seeing it as commonplace." Solas scoffed, yes, most people did. "Naturally, we disagreed, we argued, far more civilly than this I might add, and he conceded that people should never be property... He did make a fair point, however, he pointed out that he couldn't see how the alienages were any better. And to be honest, neither can I. So I would appreciate it if you stopped acting like my people should be grateful for being "allowed" to live in slums. No less vulnerable to rape and other kinds of abuse than in the Imperium. The way I see it the only way for elves to be free in Thedas is to be Dalish. Your chantry teaches elves to be grateful for crumbs, and not to question why they aren't allowed a seat at the table." 

"The book of Shartan-" Solas had to marvel at Cassandra's ability to keep trudging on, even when the cause was all but lost. 

"Fuck Shartan, and fuck Andraste!" shouted Lavellan, viciously, brutally. "And frankly, fuck this conversation. If you were as virtuous as you claim to be, you'd dedicate your life to finding a safe way to revert the rite of Tranquility, but much like the Chant of Light, I suspect your words are just as hollow. Do whatever you want, but don't expect me to pat you on the back." 

With that, the conversation was definitely over, and Solas could hear footsteps moving in opposite directions. No doubt Cassandra would go back to Cullen's office to complain extensively about Lavellan's temper, his distaste for human society, and general heathenness. However she wouldn't find much sympathy. Cullen had yet to meet a free mage he wasn't hopelessly drawn to, even if he had yet to figure out why, and the nature of his own self-loathing feelings. 

"Oh, and Cassandra," Lavellan said abruptly, stopping in his tracks. "If I was ever captured and shoved in one of your circles, don't doubt for a second that I would turn to blood magic, and burn the whole thing to the ground. You can only beat a dog so much before it stops whimpering and tries to bit you back." 

Solas never got the chance to hear Cassandra's retort because Lavellan was opening the door to his study, and he had to scramble out of the way not to get hit in the face. Not his most dignified moment. Lavellan seemed to agree as he regarded Solas with a smirk. The Inquisitor was wearing a Dalish outfit he favoured whenever he was at Skyhold, lightweight leather embroidered with leaf motifs and shimmering scales of one kind or another. Solas wondered if the style was a reflection of what the Dallish believed their Elvhen ancestors to have worn, or merely a result of their own tastes and environment. 

"Enjoyed yourself?" Lavellan asked, reclining against Solas desk. He inhabited whatever space he was in with total confidence, almost defiant. He had an habit of barging into Solas' study at all times. It aggravated him that he didn't find it more aggravating. 

"You bait her on purpose, lethallin." 

"Excellent observation skills, hahren," he said smirking. Solas often wondered if Lavellan insisted on addressing him as hahren to establish boundaries between them, or to amuse himself by reminding Solas that he might be owned respect but he wasn't a friend just yet. He was almost tempted to call him da'len and test out his theory but he had and inkling that would be admitting defeat in whatever game they were playing. In a way it was refreshing to be around someone whose motivations weren't transparent, who always kept him guessing, it reminded him of home. That entailed its own dangers, but Solas was never one to shy away from danger, against his best interests. 

"I find it irksome that she struggles between what she knows to be right, and her faith. If she'd only just remove her faith from the equation she would be able to see the forest for the trees. Leliana has no such qualms, she is very critical of the chantry, and would tear it to the ground and start fresh. I think I'll make her Divine," Lavellan said the last sentence offhandedly. As if it was an every day occurrence, 'I'll have fruit for breakfast', 'I'll go for a walk after lunch', 'I'll make Leliana Divine'. Solas had been familiar with people who decided the fate of nations just as casually, and once it had perturbed him, now it just made him nostalgic. 

Not for the first time he wondered how Lavellan would have fared among Elvhen society, he wasn't a Dreamer, so the highest ranks would be closed off to him. He was however still powerful, extremely cunning, and very beautiful. Those carried their own weight, Solas wondered if Lavellan would find that insulting. He didn't know how romantic were his feelings about the People's lost past, he often asked for Solas' opinion, but seldom shared his. Perhaps it would disappoint him to know they were just as vain, just as corrupt and lustful as the Humans, and how much like Tevinter indeed, slaves and all. 

"Do you expect the humans will listen to the words of an elf?" Solas asked, his turn to do the baiting. 

"I expect I'll make them," he replied shrugging. "Oh, don't look at me like that! I won't threaten to immolate them, if they don't. They simply won't have any other choice. Because while the chantry sits on its ass the Inquisition is doing something, so yes, the Divine will be whoever I want her to be. And I won't even need to maim anyone to do it, plus, I suppose Leliana could handle the maiming on her own." 

"Don't you ever fear that your power as Inquisitor could distort your views, corrupt your good intentions, until they stop being for the benefit of others and become only self-serving?" 

"'Aren't you afraid you'll become a tyrant, Vanir?', Is that what you're asking, hahren?" Lavellan smirked, a feline smirk that never failed to make Solas feel like he had walked right into a trap of his own making. He nodded nonetheless, in a way, yes, that was his question. Vanir replied, "No, I'm not. I never wanted to be Inquisitor, I still don't want to, once this is done, and Corypheus is defeated, I'll return...home, which is what I've wanted to do since I walked out of the blasted Conclave." 

He made his way from the table to Solas, and stopped scarce centimetres away from him. Solas noted rather obtusely that the top of Lavellan's head just reached his nose.  
"So, while I'm Inquisitor I'll try to do as much good as I possibly can. If that results in a more tolerant and open chantry that doesn't imprison people and call it 'kindness', all the better." He looked up at Solas then, who noted, again, obtusely, how very green his eyes were, and how many freckles he had. It was a day for obtuse, tangential thoughts, it seemed. "Why do you ask? Have you encountered many instances of individuals being corrupted by the power vested in them by others?" 

Solas stood very still, and reminded himself that Lavellan couldn't know. He tested and prodded at everyone he met until they admitted more than they were willing, Solas had seen it happen countless times, and he would not fall prey to the same scheme. He knew nothing, only that Solas wasn't being entirely honest about who he was. But Lavellan assumed that of everyone he came into contact with. The inquisitor hadn't met an ulterior motive he couldn't suspect someone of having. 

"In your journeys in the Fade, that is." He smirked his cat-like smile, and Solas felt once again caught. 

"Indeed, it's unfortunately all too common. Power tends to corrupt even the most well-intentioned. In the best case scenario, they often end up doing the wrong thing for the right reasons." Ah, but Lavellan had gotten his wish after all, he had admitted more than he intended to. 

"Truly?" His tone was dismissive, affecting boredom. But Solas had been playing these games for millennia, with minds far more twisted than Lavellan's - he wanted something. "You do realise the Fade is a very useful argumentative tool, few people can disprove your claims. But you've said it yourself, what the Fade shows you is subjective, depends on the impressions of the Spirits, you can never be certain, and yet you speak as if you always are." A pause. "Why is that?" 

"When you see an event play out enough times, you start to gleam the truth from beneath the trappings of memory. Besides, I don't study just the Fade, any History book will tell you the same thing. History is filled with people who destroyed others, and themselves, once they had the power to finally fix everything." Solas could almost feel himself sweat beneath his tunic, they were edging ever closer to more dangerous territory, of course Lavellan, didn't know that, but Solas was still deeply uncomfortable. He was baring a part of his soul while Vanir examined his nails. 

"Your name," Solas said suddenly, his voice didn't betray his inner turmoil, but he was desperate for a change of subject, "Do you have any idea why your parents chose it?" 

"Am I sufficiently chastised, then?" He looked up from his nails, and regarded Solas with an appraising look. "My parents were from another clan, their clan had a second and third, so when my magic manifested I was given to clan Lavellan, who were in desperate need of a first." 

Solas refrained from commenting on how that was a perfect example of how the Dalish weren't as enlightened about magic as Lavellan made them out to be, but kept his remarks to himself, and allowed him to continue. 

"In my parents' clan Vanir was thought to mean "beautiful", but in clan Lavellan they had no knowledge of the word. So I suppose my parents chose it because they were glad to have a child, and they found me beautiful, but in my new clan my name holds no meaning, it's just a name. I like it better that way." 

Lavellan's parents hadn't been far off, Vanir meant 'very dangerous' or 'terrifying', and what was beauty, if not that? In fact, it might have once, before his own time, actually have meant beautiful, he had never bothered with the study of etymology – he used to have no fear of losing his language, of losing everything. 

"It suits you, regardless of meaning," Lavellan shoot him an inquisitive look, and then smiled knowingly. On the other hand, maybe Vanir meant 'vain', suddenly Solas couldn't be certain. "Have you seen them? Your parents? Since you've joined clan Lavellan, that is." 

Vanir shrugged. "On occasion, more extensively during the last Arlathvhen. My clan is my family, not my parents. Surely you know how Dalish society works."  
"Indeed. Your heritage is very important to you, that much is obvious, lethallin."  
"Less so to you, hahren." 

"I am not Dalish." 

"That much is obvious." Again that infuriating smirk, as Lavellan touched the vallaslin over his bottom lip. 

He wanted more than anything to tell him the truth of the marks he was so proud to bear, but he recognised the impulse as childish. It would only hurt Lavellan, and any kindness the gesture meant would be misinterpreted as spite. So he watched as Lavellan tenderly touched the brands of June on his face, and held his tongue. June, evasive, manipulative, wordsmith, always unwilling to find compromise, always looking out for himself under the guise of generosity. He would have loved Vanir and his cunning mind, the irony being that as a favoured pupil he would never wear brands on his face. 

"Your frescoes are coming along nicely," Lavellan said suddenly, pulling Solas away from his musings, his eyes moved around the walls, but settled on the very first mural. "What are they supposed to depict?" 

"Your efforts to close the breach and stop Corypheus, evidently." 

"Truly? I suppose that one represents the Hinterlands," he said pointing at the first mural, the one that had caught his eye. "Funny, I don't remember the wolves of Redcliffe farm being that much of a trial, certainly not one meriting so much emphasis." 

"We must remember differently. You must also allow me some creative liberties." Solas felt pinned in place by Lavellan's piercing eyes, but he held against the onslaught, reminding himself Vanir was only looking for an opening, trying to find a weakness he could exploit. There was no way for him to know Solas' true identity.

"Can't argue with the results at any rate, they are beautiful." He smiled, a genuine smile that softened his cold eyes. Solas should know better than to relax in the presence of a predator who showed you their belly only because it meant to scratch out your eyes when you moved to touch it, but he did nonetheless. A smile was a disarming thing. "If you'll excuse me, I must be on my way. Dorian sent word that books from Tevinter have arrived, obviously every mage in Skyhold will want to read them, but he promised to save me a few on Somniari. I don't know for how long he'll manage to hold off the knowledge starved horde, however." 

"I didn't know you were interested in Dreamers." The idea made Solas' heart beat faster for some reason he didn't care to examine too closely. 

"I'm interested in magic, Solas. All magic. Besides, maybe the books will help me understand you better." He winked, incongruously, and made his way to the door leading into the main hall, he stopped at the doorway and turned again to face Solas, before saying, "Dareth shiral, hahren." 

Solas didn't reply. He was frozen in place, he could swear he had heard Lavellan call him harelllan. 

\--- 

Considering the Grey Wardens were trying to raise a demon army at Corypheus behest, Solas was surprised to realise how much he enjoyed the reprise the Winter Palace presented. Being introduced as the Inquisitior's "elven manservant" barely grated, and he appreciated the opportunity for invisibility. He only regretted that he wouldn't have occasion to speak with his own agents. He supposed, above all, he appreciated not having to dwell on how much the current mess was his direct responsibility. The knowledge that spirits would be twisted and turned against their nature in the Warden's foolish plans to pre-emptively stop further blights was disheartening. 

So he postponed his eventual self-flagellation, reclined against a wall, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible, and watched as Lavellan was everything but.  
The Inquisitor had refused to wear the red coat and blue sash Inquisition members were issued, instead he had opted for what passed for Dalish formal wear, and stuck out like a sore thumb. Eyes followed him wherever he went, many of them outraged that an elf would move about fine society with his head held high, many others outraged that he was blatantly ignoring the season's fashion, yet many more were appreciative. For all he clearly didn't look as if he fit in with Orlais finest, Lavellan certainly behaved himself as if he did. Charming, respectful, dismissive of the many slights and provocations thrown his way, he was the picture of refined composure. 

Josephine must have felt like a proud parent. But only because she didn't realise Lavellan wasn't ignorant about etiquette and Orlesian niceties, he simply didn't care, unless it suited him. Which begged the question. Where did a Dalish elf learn Orlesian table manners? Josephine and the other advisors must believe it was their doing, but Solas wasn't as easily fooled. Lavellan wore the mask of polite society like a second skin. Even his choice to appear outwardly Dalish, against Josephine's advice, was carefully curated. All the elven servants looked at him in awe, which meant that long before he set foot in Halamshiral, Lavellan had already decided to pledge his assistance to Briala. 

He realised that his fixation on Lavellan was turning into a distraction, however he couldn't help but wonder about all the things he didn't say. Solas' was used to his own necessary deception, but what was Vanir hiding, and why? The incongruities were far too many to be ignored, and yet everyone but him did. He supposed the same could be said of himself. With the exception of Vanir, and Iron Bull, all of their company seemed happy to accept he was a deeply disciplined hedge mage. 

As if summoned by Solas' persistent thoughts Lavellan materialised at his side, smiling deviously and adjusting his posture just slightly as to appear less regal, slouching against the table, blending in with Solas' himself, and effectively vanishing in the same crowd that had been avidly following his every movement moments prior. 

"Enjoying the masquerade?" he asked, in a mockery of an Orlesian accent. 

"Quite. But not as much as you, I'd wager. You fit in surprisingly well with Orlesian nobility." 

"They are an easy lot to charm. Appeal to their vanity and they'll convince themselves they are smarter than you." He shrugged a shoulder, ignoring Solas' veiled accusation.

"Did clan Lavellan teach you the finer details of human society, or were you a fast study under Josephine's capable hands?" he asked, placidly, taking a sip from his glass and avoiding looking directly at Lavellan. If nothing else, Solas wanted him to know he wasn't fooled. 

"There is some dirty innuendo in there." Again the insufferable smirk, Lavellan's favourite diversion tactic. "I never took you for the jealous type, hahren. Had I known you wanted to, I would have let you do the teaching." And with that, Solas' question was effectively sidestepped. He might have admired Vanir's talent for subterfuge in another occasion, but just then he found it jarring. 

"I don't know that there is much I could teach you, lethallin. You are unlike any Dalish I have met, I wonder...why is that?" 

"Oh, have you met all the Dalish clans of Thedas?" Lavellan's eyes widened, as he pretended to be impressed. Solas wished he was drinking something stronger. "Maybe, hahren, you presume too much. No two people are alike, just as no two clans are alike. My clan knew, that sometimes, it was better to play by human rules than to defy them, diplomacy is a tool as any other. Being too proud to see that, proved fatal for many clans." 

"And yet you find all manner of social niceties distasteful, and you dislike all human countries." 

"No, not really, I think they would be perfectly likeable if it wasn't for their devotion to their abyss forsaken Maker." Solas had often wondered why the Andrastian faith bothered Lavellan so much. He obviously blamed the chantry for the oppression of mages and elves alike, but at times it seemed it went deeper than that. 

"Would you have humans worshipping elven gods?" Solas hid a smile behind his goblet. The idea was preposterous, he remembered Falon'Din calling humans 'noisier than the average insect, but mercifully just as short-lived'. 

"I don't see why they stopped worshipping the Old Gods to begin with, they were real by all accounts. But of course, a god which doesn't exist, is in fact merely an abstract concept, is much more malleable, and easier to fit into whatever narrative its church sees fit. After all, gods who make their will plain are such a nuisance, when they go against their priests' agendas." Vanir stared at Solas, pointedly, before continuing, "Wouldn't you agree?" 

"No, not at all. Gods such as you describe, aren't Gods at all, just people, and as such, just as corruptible, just as fallible. I find the idea of a God as an ideal to aspire to commendable. I have no love for Andrastians, but in my opinion, they got that right." It was his turn to stare pointedly at Lavellan. They were on the verge of a precipice. Solas could no longer fool himself into believing Vanir was simply trying to find the cracks in his armour, he knew something. Maybe not who Solas was, but more than he expected anyone living in this world to know. 

He gazed into Lavellan's green eyes, liar's eyes, and took the plunge, "I'm curious, what do you think the Old Gods of Tevinter were?" 

"Who. They are our own Forgotten Ones," Lavellan replied, simply, with all the certainty in the world. "The remaining two, Razikale and Lusacan, or as the People call them, Geldauran and Anaris." 

Solas took another sip of his drink, and pretend to consider Lavellan's words thoughtfully, all the while the ground crumbled beneath his feet. "An interesting theory, is it widely believed among your clan?" 

"Oh no, I reckon Keeper Istimaethoriel would have a conniption if I as much as suggested it." 

"Then how did you came to such a conclusion?" 'How did you come to be, at all?' He wanted to ask, but didn't. 

"Save me a dance, after our business here is done, and I'll tell you once we're back at Skyhold." Could it really be that simple? Solas regarded Lavellan, his knowing smirks, and sharp eyes, it was unfathomable that he would reveal his closely guarded secrets for a chance at seduction. Half the time he seemed to find Solas amusing at best, and an old-fashioned nuisance at worst. No, he clearly had some hidden design that hadn't yet made itself clear, but Solas was beginning to see the shapes beneath the murky water. He would dive into the current and pull at the knots Lavellan so cleverly tied himself with. 

"Very well, I look forward to see the fruits of Josephine's labour, or perhaps your own natural, inexplicable, talent for ballroom dances," he tipped his glass in Lavellan's direction, in a mock toast. 

"I'm sure you'll be a better partner than duchess Florianne, who stepped on my feet twice in her eagerness to prove her loyalty." He straightened from his careless slouch, once again the dignified Inquisitor. "She's our traitor, by the way. I look forward to our dance, hahren" 

Solas watched Lavellan leave, the way the crowd parted for him, and his resolve strengthened. Lavellan was proving himself an unknown quantity, one that could disrupt his plans. He needed to be sure. 

\--- 

He found the Iron Bull nor far from there, in the perfect position to inspect both the crowd inside, and in the gardens. The other guests gave him a wide berth, even as he played the unsophisticated, yet harmless savage by hoarding glasses of drink and plates of food. 

"Solas! Have you tried these little pastry things? I have no idea what they put in them, but it could be poison for all I care. Good food is worth dying for," he said cheerfully, and loudly, announcing to the room at large that whatever conversation was to follow wasn't worth listening in to. 

"I'm afraid Orlesian cuisine doesn't agree with me," Solas said, turning his back to the crowd and facing Bull. "Tell me, what do you make of our Inquisitor?"  
"Stopped staring at his ass, and started wondering what goes on in his head, did you?" 

Solas didn't dignify him with an answer. 

"Hey, I don't blame you, it's a very fine ass. But once you get past that, and the eyes, you start seeing pieces of a puzzle that don't fit together." 

"Yes, it has become apparent that the Inquisitor isn't who he claims to be. Not entirely." 

"Remind you of someone?" Bull stared at him intently, but Solas wasn't fazed. It didn't worry him that Bull suspected him, it worried him that Lavellan might find out the truth. "Yeah, thought so. Anyway, the Inquisitor is definitely Dalish, definitely from clan Lavellan, we've been in contact with them after all, but...and here's the kicker, he definitely spent some time in Tevinter" 

"Odd place for a Dalish elf to find himself," Solas said. Dangerous too. 

"Dangerous too." It never ceased to amuse him how much he and Bull were in synch, despite all their differences. "So you're thinking maybe he was enslaved at some point? He certainly was laying it on Dorian about slavery in the Imperium, back at Haven. But I overheard him talking with Krem, asking questions about life back home, harmless, good commander stuff, but he sounded... all fond, wistful. Even Krem noticed, of course he thought it was just a case of a mage dreaming about a better life. Said he didn't have the heart to tell the Inquisitor that elves never got that privilege." 

"But we both know the Inquisitor isn't naïve," said Solas, already knowing what conclusion Bull had drawn. 

"He is a whole many things. But no, not naïve. He wasn't daydreaming about being a powerful free mage, he's the Inquisitor, he already is. Plus he never set foot in a circle. All he knew with the Dalish was frolicking in the woods and communing with nature." Bull smiled, probably imagining Lavellan frolicking. Solas would wager his left foot Vanir had never frolicked anywhere. "Anyway, Dalish mages who charm flowers with their song, don't think wistfully about Tevinter, they stay the fuck away, because they know the only thing waiting for them there is a slavers' den." 

"You have interesting views on the Dalish..." 

"Come on, I'm joking. Although I didn't expect you to jump to their defence, with the way you criticise everything about them. Or is that what passes for flirting between you and the Inquisitor?" 

"You were going somewhere with this?" Talking with Bull would be immensely more agreeable if he didn't insist in proving how clever he was every second sentence. Solas almost preferred it when he played the fool. 

"What's the hurry, Solas? Has he got you cornered, scrambling to get some leverage?" Bull was clearly enjoying himself, but Solas wouldn't give him the satisfaction of reacting. "Anyway, what kind of elf talks fondly about the Imperium, yet was never a brainwashed slave? Definitely one who spent some time there, as a--"  
"Magister's apprentice, probably." 

"Damn you Solas, you suck the joy out of everything!" Solas tried very hard not to smile at Bull's disgruntled huff. "But yeah, the Inquisitor spent some time in Tevinter studying magic, of some sort or another. Although, I keep an eye on him when we're on the field, and all his spells are straightforward Dalish utilitarian stuff, no Tevinter flair. So either he was a crappy student, or he wasn't studying any magic I recognise. I'm not a mage, but I've seen it all." 

"Yes, most curious." And extremely unexpected. 

"I gotta say, Solas, I'm disappointed in you. You should have noticed these things sooner. As a sketchy elven apostate I would have thought you would keep a closer eye on the other sketchy elven apostate." Solas shot Bull a withering look. He was rapidly tiring of this conversation, and of Bull's gloating. "I guess you were, in a way, just not on anything above the waist." 

"He has never mentioned Tevinter to me, until today," he said curtly. He really didn't appreciate Bull's insistence he was somehow attracted to Lavellan, and that that had made him careless. Mostly because he feared it was true. 

"Really, what did he say?" 

"He mentioned the Old Gods." 

"Shit, it doesn't get much more Tevinter than that." 

"He also believes they are the elven Forgotten Ones, the Gods the Dalish believe were locked away in the Abyss by the Dread Wolf." 

"You're shitting me?" Bull asked, incredulous. Solas was, in fact, not shitting him. "You're not shitting me! Oh, that's just fucking dandy. So that's what he was doing in Tevinter...being part of some magister's weird cult to bring back the Old Gods. A magister who enlisted the help of Dalish mages, by telling them this crap about the Old Gods being their Lost Gods, too. Of course the Dalish being desperate for any sign of them, wouldn't even mind bringing back the evil ones."  
A sound theory, except Solas couldn't quite mention that they weren't really Gods, and that it was a stretch to call the Evanuris, 'good'. And also that Lavellan was entirely correct in his, or his hypothetical cult's, assumptions. 

"It seems likely, yet..." 

"The Inquisitor doesn't seem the 'doom upon all the world' type?" interrupted Bull. "No, he doesn't. And I'm not just saying that because I think he's pretty. I didn't mention this stuff about him spending time in Tevinter to anyone, because I figured it was nobody's business. He does the right thing, helps people, chases down the Venatori and the Red Templars, even kills the occasional dragon...which, I gotta say, makes it weird that he's in a cult that worships them." 

"I don’t think, there's necessarily a connection-" 

Bull cut him off, "My point is: Don't do anything that doesn't need doing. Leliana would know if he was in contact with Tevinter, I would know." Would they really? Solas hid easily in plain sight, Lavellan might be doing the same. "He doesn't seem excited about a new Blight judging by the way he's been cursing the Wardens to anyone who'll stand still long enough. He might also be afraid they'll kill his Gods...Shit, I wish you hadn't told me this crap." He rubbed his chin and sighed. "I don't know where I was going with this anymore, but, find out what the fuck Tevinter crap he's gotten himself into. Maybe it's dangerous, hopefully it's just weird, and Tevinter-y. I don't know, you'll figure something out. I'll ask Dorian about weird Old God cults, should only take a few days," he snorted. "I'll pretend I'm flirting with him." 

"You'd flirt with him anyway." 

"He's easy to flirt with," Bull said dismissively, before levelling Solas with a searching look. "I'm trusting that your secrets aren't dangerous, Solas. I'm trusting you to do what's best for the Inquisition, for everyone, when the time comes." 

"I can promise you my secrets aren't at all Tevinter-y," he said. Bull didn't look impressed by his glibness. "Your trust is not misplaced," he added. The lie tasted like ashes on his tongue, but he had tasted worse things. 

Bull sighed, "Why is it always Tevinter? They say all roads lead to Minrathous, but dammit, why did it have to be true?" 

"Indeed, it seems to be the eye of the hurricane." 

"Guess we'll have to weather the storm." 

\--- 

After Empress Celene was assassinated, Gaspard blackmailed, and Briala gifted the country of Orlais on a gilded platter, Solas went looking for Lavellan. He found him in the ballroom's main balcony, overlooking the palace gardens, he seemed lost in contemplation, but he turned his head to the side as soon as Solas crossed the threshold. 

"You managed to make Briala the de facto ruler of Orlais, as you intended. Well done," Solas said, by way of greeting. 

"I thought about mending things between her and Celene, but nothing would change. Celene would make promises she wasn't strong enough to keep, Briala would forgive her at first, and eventually resent her. Until the cycle that led us here began anew." He leaned his hip against the balustrade, and turned to face Solas. "I did what I had to." 

"You won't find any judgement from me." He meant it, not in this. "Briala will be good for the elves of Orlais, at any rate." He would find a way to take the eluvians from her. Solas' suspected that with her new-found power she would have less need for them, and he believed she would be sympathetic to his cause. She understood the sacrifices of putting the People first. 

"I gave her back the locket Celene kept, so she'll remember not to be cruel to the humans who don't deserve it." 

"And yet you allowed the Empress to be assassinated. Wasn't that cruel?" 

"It was necessary," Lavellan replied, perhaps more forcefully than he'd intended. "She'll be a better ruler as a martyr. Briala will honour her memory, and act accordingly, and she'll remember Florianne and Gaspard when dealing with the powerful and corrupt. And I'll make sure she remembers the mages. Until the time comes when no one will need reminding." 

Solas laughed, surprising Lavellan, who gave him a quizzical look. "How cryptic. Do you plan to raise all mages to positions of power, like Tevinter?" 

"No, I expect to change minds." 

"You already have," said Solas, his voice softening. "But I'm afraid not enough to meet your goals. And you won't be Inquisitor forever. You must know your role has a time limit." The green glow of the anchor drew his eye, if Solas did nothing about it, that time limit would be fatal. He hadn't expected to care. 

"Sometimes I wonder if you think I'm stupid." Lavellan delivered the words with such sudden vitriol, Solas was momentarily stunned. Vanir's mouth was twisted in a mocking sneer, and his eyes were like glinting daggers, dipped in poison. "You must, or you wouldn't be so condescending. Patronising, like I'm a small child. But that's what the Dalish are to you, isn't it? Children, grasping at shapes in the dark?" 

"If I've offended yo-" 

"I just told you, you did. So that's a poor way to start an apology." 

"I don't think you're stupid. The opposite, in fact, you are far wiser than most people I've met." A pause. "But, I think you hope for too much at once, you want a better future for elves, and mages, elven or otherwise. Those goals intersect, in some instances, and are diametrical opposites in others. It would be easier to pick a single side." 

"Perhaps, but I don't want to do what's easier, I want to do what's right," Lavellan said, with such conviction that Solas didn't doubt for an instant he would die to make it happen.  
Solas had once believed just as strongly that he was doing what was right, what was necessary, and in his righteousness he had destroyed the world, and created all the problems Lavellan now scrambled to fix. In that moment he wanted to tell Vanir everything. Who he really was, how he could return the world to a previous condition. How he could make all the horror of the mortal world disappear, and search for a better solution for the horror of his own time. Solas wondered if Lavellan would understand the sacrifice necessary, if he could ever accept that the world he knew had to be destroyed in order to return it to its rightful state. He suspected he already knew the answers to those questions, so he said nothing. 

For a moment they were both silent. Looking out at the night sky; Solas remembering his lost past, and Lavellan thinking about the future he would pry from the jaws of the present. 

It was Lavellan that broke the silence first, "I promised you answers, and you promised me a dance." 

"I didn't want to presume the offer still stood." 

"One day, Solas, you'll open your mouth, and not make rude assumptions about my character," said Lavellan, this time with far more humour than vitriol. "Our word is all we Dalish have." 

"You should have more than that." The words stuck to his throat. He looked away from Lavellan, and ahead into the black mountains of Halamshiral. 

The land Vanir's people had fought so fiercely for, and managed to hold on to for 300 years. Before the Humans stole it, before the Chantry stole it. Perhaps that was the source of Lavellan's hatred for Andraste, and her followers. Solas had never needed to look further than these lush forests, and steep mountains to find his answer. Of course, the fall of Arlathan was too distant to be anything but a faded scar, a memory half-forgotten of an old hurt. Not Halamshiral, Halamshiral must sting the Dalish like a fresh wound. It was only Solas' own pain that prevented him from seeing what was so clear on Lavellan's face, as he stared at the darkness ahead. 

"You would like to see the Dales returned to the elves," Solas said. A statement not a question. 

"No," Lavellan said. Solas shouldn't have been surprised. Vanir never said what he expected to hear. "There's no point in dwelling on the past. I would like us to move forward. The loss of the Dales is painful, it will always be, but the elves will never be anything but the losers of history if we don't look ahead." 

"Is there no merit in restoring what was?" 

"'He who dwells on past glories forgoes the possibility of future ones,'" Lavellan said, smiling, reminiscing. 

"A curious saying." 

"Not a saying, just something an old friend used to say." 

"Someone from your clan?" 

"No," Lavellan said, as he turned away from the balustrade and moved closer to Solas. "You'll have your answers after I have my dance." 

Solas looked at Lavellan's outreached arm, offered like the promise of something dangerous, like his name, and took his hand. 

They moved together in tight circles, dancing to a tune only they could hear. Lavellan allowed Solas to lead, seamlessly following every step. Vanir rested his head in the crook of Solas' neck. His hair smelled faintly of wild berries. Solas closed his eyes and let himself remember the song of the Halls of Arlathan. The song that once had permeated all of Elvhenan, and breathed life into the world. He could still feel its rhythm under his skin. He couldn't make Lavellan hear it, but he could make him feel it. Solas held him closer by the waist, and cradled Lavellan's head against his neck. It was unbearably intimate, from their synchronized movements, to Lavellan's silky black hair brushing against Solas' fingers. If circumstances had been different he and Lavellan might have danced for decades, extending this sweet intimacy to its limits, unable to let go of each other until other needs arose. The world would have stood still as they danced, holding its breath. Waiting, until they set it into motion again. 

In that moment Solas forgot that they were both liars, and that in this world he was only allowed fleeting instants, stolen from the past he was determined to restore. They were two people looking in opposite directions. Solas at what he'd left behind, and Lavellan at what lay ahead. But in that brief moment, they could only look at each other. 

"I can feel your heartbeat," Lavellan said, breaking the spell. "It's very fast." 

"I must be nervous," he replied. 

"Why?" 

"Because you're very dangerous," Solas said, and kissed him. 

It was two kisses contained in one. Lavellan gasped in surprise as their lips touched, but immediately pulled Solas closer with one hand on his nape. His kiss was fast, desperate as if he might die if they stopped kissing, while Solas tried to gentle him. Solas' kiss was slow, searching, a revelation. Their kisses were as different as themselves, but in the spaces between one gasped breath and another, they had managed to find common ground. 

Solas held Lavellan tightly, with one hand on his waist, and another cradling the back of his head, fingers tangled in his hair. He was intoxicated with Lavellan's taste, with the way he used his skilled tongue for other purposes than talking circles around someone. Vanir clung to Solas' neck as if he expected him to vanish at any second. He bit Solas' bottom lip, and scratched his nape, and Solas would be lying if he said he wasn't drunk on his desperation. For all Solas tried to slow him down, and respond to his aggressiveness with reverence, he revelled in Vanir's obvious need. It was heady to hear desire in every swallowed moan, in every bitten off gasp. Which was why he had to put a stop to it.  
He pulled away from Lavellan slowly, who immediately tried to chase after his lips. Solas held him back with a gentle hand on his shoulder. For a moment they stood, heads bent, almost touching, just breathing each other in. 

"You must really want those answers," Lavellan said, grinning, still out of breath. 

"What I want is to have you up against a wall," Solas said in a whisper. Lavellan sucked in a breath and shivered, threatening to undo Solas' resolve. "But we can't always have what we want," he added, letting go of Lavellan's shoulder and stepping away. 

"And on that note, you're just going to leave?" asked Lavellan, all traces of humour gone. If he was paler he might have been blushing with frustration. 

"You know this can't happen." Solas didn't want to hurt Lavellan, not any more than was necessary, but he had to see they were a spell about to spiral out of control. "I'll remember this night fondly. I hope you do too." 

"I suppose I should be flattered," he said, bitingly. "Dareth shiral, hahren." 

"Lethallin, it was never my intentio-" Solas started, but Lavellan cut him off. 

"What did I tell you about poor ways to start apologies?" He stopped, and glanced at Solas over his shoulder. "I'll see you at home." 

\--- 

It was almost dawn when they reached Skyhold. Lavellan had barely acknowledged Solas during the journey, preferring to ride instead alongside Dorian and Sera. It was odd that the Inquisitor didn't seem to harbour any ill feelings for Sera, considering her own views of the Dalish, unwillingness to be associated with anything elven, and general distrust of magic. Yet throughout the journey he had heard the three of them laughing loudly about some shared joke Solas was too far away to hear clearly. It could be that Lavellan found Sera to be the victim of unfortunate circumstances that had skewered her views about her own people, and thus pitied her – Solas himself did, at times. But as he lay in bed, he found he had no hope of learning the intricacies of Lavellan's mind, unless he wished to share them. 

He wasn't surprised to find himself in the Fade, moments after falling asleep. He was however surprised to find himself in someone else's dream. 

He was standing outside a beautiful domed villa, all dark marbles, and gold moulding. He had never been in a place such as this, or in its ruins, but he knew where the architecture was native from. With a sinking feeling he made his way inside, through heavy doors, flanked by polished obsidian pillars. 

The inside of the villa was no less impressive, but Solas wasted no time admiring the decoration. He could hear faint humming from one of the rooms, and followed the sound. He made his way through the large halls, walking barefoot over a million tiny coloured tiles. He had been an idiot, and worst of all blind. How could he not have seen this? Only one person could have dreamt this, and Solas found him, lounging on a large canopy bed, as artificial wind made sheer white curtains billow. 

"Welcome to my home, hahren," Lavellan said, smirking. "It isn't the largest villa in Minrathous, but I daresay, it's one of the most beautiful." 

Lavellan wasn't wearing one of his usual Skyhold outfits. Instead he wore a long black tunic and leggings, with golden buckles and brocade; on his forearms long gold cuffs, with a familiar scale pattern, inlaid in mother of pearl. 

"You are a Somniari," said Solas. Feeling foolish, and furious. 

"Astute observation. What gave me away?" He laughed. Solas could hear the smug satisfaction behind the mirth. Lavellan was pleased to have tricked Solas. If he was aware of the irony remained to be seen. 

"Your time in Tevinter honing your craft was well spent. The attention to detail is remarkable." 

"I lived in this house for eight years. I know every nook and cranny, I could dream it in my sleep," he snorted at his own joke. "Thank you for the compliment, but if he was here I'm sure my mentor would find some obvious flaw to critique." 

"Not your master?" Solas asked, caustic, and watched as Lavellan's expression darkened immediately. 

"Don't you dare imply that about him, Solas. I won't allow it. Don't you fucking dare." 

Solas didn't push the issue, and asked instead, "Why bring me here? To gloat? To have me tell you how clever you are? Congratulations, I didn't suspect a thing."  
Lavellan quirked an eyebrow. "I promised you answers..." 

Solas was overtaken with the sudden urge to shake Lavellan. There was more at stake than his Dalish honour. An honour which, apparently, inhabited the same space as Tevinter gold leaf. 

"And you did suspect," Lavellan continued. "I saw you talking with Bull at the Winter Palace. I knew I was careless when I spoke to Krem, but I was hoping my gamble with Bull would have paid off, and it did." 

"What gamble?" Asked Solas. Did Lavellan count on Solas asking Bull about information? That made no sense, since he was planning to reveal the truth to Solas anyway. 

"Now that he is Tal-Vashoth, Bull is completely loyal to the Inquisition, and by extension to me. That he didn't share the information about my time in Tevinter with anyone but you, proves that." 

Solas understood then. "It was you who tipped the Chargers' position to the Venatori." 

"He'd already left the Qun behind. I just needed him to realise that," he said, shrugging. 

"Innocents were killed." 

"There are no innocents under the Qun, especially abroad a dreadnaught," he said, with feeling. 

"You are the model Imperium citizen," Solas said, laughing in disbelief. "But I wonder, does the Imperium even recognise you as one?" 

Lavellan leaned back on his elbow and rested his face on the open palm of his hand. "Is that supposed to sadden me? Do you think I'm blind to Tevinter's faults?" 

"You call this place home, you must love it, more than your clan, perhaps." 

"The clan is my family, but before Minrathous I never had a home, we didn't stay anywhere long enough for that. Family and home are two different things." 

"Is it ever that simple?" 

"It doesn't have to be complicated," Lavellan said. "Tevinter isn't the nightmarish land the South makes it out to be, not more than anywhere else." 

"And yet our people are enslaved. Not all slaves are elves, but all elves are slaves. Isn't that right?" 

"More or less. Some achieve liberati status, many people would say that is even worse, however. Especially talented mages can become apprentices, frequent the circles, or even be sponsored by magisters. Some elves fall victim to the rituals of blood mage masters." He paused. "I think that about covers all the options afforded to elves in Tevinter." 

"But not you." 

"I'm one of the few Somniari remaining in Thedas, of course not," he said. "But don't presume that makes me like Vivienne. Content to feast while others starve." 

"How exactly did you improve the lives of elves in Tevinter during the eight years you slept in silks?" Solas said, waving an arm at the sumptuous room. 

"By working tirelessly, by garnering allies, by researching magic. How did you improve the lives of elves by hiding away in the woods and living ascetically?" 

Lavellan stared at him, intent, but Solas said nothing. 

"You don't know me, Solas. Only two people truly did, and one of them is dead." 

"That's because you lie." 

"Only by omission," he grinned. "Besides, I'm not the only one." 

"I'm growing tired of your provocations," Solas said, more agitated by the minute. "Either you know something or you don't." 

"What do you suppose I know?" 

"More than you're letting on, but less than you're implying," Solas said, impatience clear in his tone. 

"Oh, I doubt that very much," Lavellan smirked, but didn't make clear which part of the sentence he objected to. 

"Do you know how old I was when I came to Tevinter?" Lavellan asked, unprompted, after a long pause. 

"I'm sure you're about to tell me," Solas replied through gritted teeth. He didn't appreciate being made to feel like captive audience for whatever play Lavellan was enacting. 

"I was sixteen. The keeper had no hope of helping me control my dreams. After asking other clans for help she eventually learned that one other, an half-elf who had spent time with clan Sabrae, was also a dreamer and had gone to Tevinter to master his abilities." 

"It would have been far easier for an half-elf to travel to Minrathous unbothered than for you." 

"You're right, that's why Magister Caius payed slavers to smuggle me in," he smiled. How recalling such a thing could make him smile, Solas would probably never understand. "Of course they thought I was a slave, a very powerful mage not to be disturbed under any circumstance. I don't think they ever came within five meters of me." 

"The possibility of being actually enslaved once you reached Tevinter never crossed your mind?" 

"Feynriel, came to me in dreams. He kept in constant contact with his mother in clan Sabrae, so they knew he was being treated well, he assured me Caius was a good man. I believed him." 

"And was he?"

"Yes, one of the best I've ever known." 

"So, when you went to Tevinter you were trusting, when you left you were suspicious and deceitful." Solas didn't add manipulative to the list, but if Lavellan didn't have the self-awareness to realise he was that too, there was probably nothing Solas could say to make him see it. 

Lavellan nodded. "Manipulative too. What's your point?" After Solas said nothing, he continued, "Oh I get it! You think I was a wide-eyed innocent, before big bad Tevinter corrupted me beyond salvation and turned me into whatever you think I am now." 

"If you were so besotted with Tevinter why did you leave?" Solas asked, exasperated. If Lavellan had never left Tevinter he would never have been Inquisitor. Looking at his smirking face Solas had the unpleasant feeling Lavellan was exactly where he wanted to be, and that filled him with dread. 

"I was looking for you." 

Solas stood rooted in place. If he wasn't in the Fade he might have felt dizzy. He could only stare at Lavellan and wait for the axe to fall. 

"I don't mean that in a silly romantic fashion. Although judging by your face, you didn't think I did, either," he said, smilling, and Solas had to wonder if this was punishment. 

"Wounded wolves leave blood trails all over the Fade. Of course you didn't think anyone would be after the scent, so you didn't even bother hiding the tracks. First mistake, Fen'harel." 

"How did you...how could you know?" Solas was numb, he had been so foolish. So consumed by grief and regret, he didn't think to be careful in the first year after he awoke. But how could Lavellan have known in the first place? Unless... 

"Oh, a little dragon told me."


End file.
